Chapter 1

Oh yessss, child. Is it time to test you already? Oh my, how time flies when you’ve a kingdom to rule. I had thought you wouldn’t be ready for this trial until you were 8 or 9 but I see, diluted elf-blood is miraculous serum indeed. Far be it for me to stop your - *smirk* - destiny. Hmm, let’s see now, how shall we proceed? Ahhhhh yesssss, your insipid little familiar. He’s quite accepting of his own fate, isn’t he? Rather like a trapped insect in a web, isn’t it? I wonder exactly when you’ll realize that the weakest is always the first to go. And, I wonder, how far you would go for friendship….

* * * * * * *

The acrid smell wafted up her nostrils to wake her up with a jolt. Scrunching her nose, Tristan looked around for the source. The search didn’t take long; someone, very likely Arite, had pee’ed a few feet from her.

Before her eyes adjusted to the slants of light streaming into the cell from the barred windows, Tiny had sidled up next to her with a small squeeze around the waist. “Hi!” he whispered.

Smiling, she gave him a little squeeze back and noted to herself that he was still dropping weight. Not good, he needs food. Hesitating a tad before she asked whether anything was going on, she sensed a strange stirring among the slaves and the slavers.

“Yeah!” he whispered back excitedly. “The schools are back. They’re getting the lists ready right now.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders drooped slightly as the news hit her. She glanced at Tiny hesitantly, then stared intently at the dance of the dust within the slants of light.

“I wonder if your name is on this year, Tristan.” Tiny was rocking back and forth with what could almost be described as glee.

Though she knew she was being led, her curiosity got the better of her. “Don’t you wonder if your name is… oh.” Her shoulders dropped further. Why was it that Tiny could perceive things better than she could at times? Of course, Tiny was on the list. One way or another, the slavers would be rid of what was definitely considered as a liability.

“Maybe I’m on this year. Last year, they said you were too small and I was too young. I think they’ll be happy to get rid of me too.” Her sigh was barely audible.

Letting her hand fall to the ground next to where they were sitting, she idly drew pictures in the dirt. Her other hand stroked the stone that was imbedded in the palm. “Tiny. If I am on the list, you gotta promise me.” She turned with sudden ferocity at him. “Promise me, Tiny! Stay behind me.”

He smiled gently at her, “What do you think I was counting on?” before breaking into a huge grin.

She punched him in the arm.

As the morning dragged on, she looked around the cell, wondering if she would miss living with slavers. After all, she knew little else and things could be worse outside those bars. Here, she had food, what little she could fight for and share with Tiny; and shelter, if one could call a moldy patch of old filthy hay that.

Her fingers stroked her palm where the triangular stone was imbedded. Why was it she’s never seen anyone else with stones imbedded in their bodies? How did she get this one? Every time she tried to remember, a fiery headache would ignite and fade away as her attempts evaporated. And how did she become a slave? Other slave kids all had sob stories, but she couldn’t remember hers.

She remembered little before her life here. Memories of soft arms, loving arms would occasionally wake her with a smile. Other memories would materialize, usually when she was rubbing the stone: memories of a song sung to her; of a tinkling laugh that tickled her ear; of a strange growly high-pitched voice that offered comfort yet seemed encumbered by melancholy; and of warmth - warmth that carried such… emotions! Crackly, fun, loving, needling, mutating, enveloping warmth.

She could never explain to Tiny that it was this warmth that carried her through the cold days and freezing nights, this warmth that repudiated her surroundings so she couldn’t suffocate. But Tiny never minded that he didn’t understand; all he seemed to care about was that Tristan was around for him to make laugh.

A crash at their cell door jabbed all the cellmates out of their reverie.

“Oy! You! You! You! ‘N You!” A finger stabbed at four kids, including Tiny and Tristan. “Oin’t youse the lucky bastiches. C’mon now! Don’ have all doi! Youse all…” his rumbling voice turned into an ugly falsetto, “are gonna put on a noiss show fer us all.” His resonant laugh faded into the distance even as the echo drifted back to them.

With a sinking heart, Tristan realized who one of the other chosen was. Arite! That bastich! The one who always went after Tiny’s portions - and got it half the time. Most of her black eyes came from him.

Passing him, she protected Tiny by being between them. A whispered taunt drifted through the darkness. “Only four schools. Only four winners.” Her blood chilled as his cackle followed.

Shuddering also because her bare shoulder brushed by some slimy moldy film on the tiled wall, Tristan kept whispering urgent messages into Tiny's ears, "Keep close during the quiz" "Stay in front of me when we're running" "Remember! Behind me during the fight!, but she knew the chances that Tiny actually heard her were remote.

A crack of a whip behind them hurried the four youngsters along the slimy hallway. The heavy iron-banded door in front of them slid creakily open at their approach, letting in such a downpour of sunlight that the four stood stupidly blinking, trying to adjust their sight.

Tristan and Tiny huddled together, making sure the others around wouldn't separate them. Then she realized someone was in the front, yelling out instructions. "... den youse runs and youse stops odders froms passing youse and dey stops youse. Foist half dat passes de finish line gets ta fight da next round. Odder half gets, " His finger drew quickly across his jugular with a wink behind it. "Oif youse gets whats I means." He quickly turned on his heels and walked into the middle of the arena.

Calling it an arena was like calling a pigsty a castle. The field was about 25 feet by 25 feet with hastily erected stands around the perimeter. Tiny gaped at the gathering crowds and whispered to Tristan "Wow, a lot of people came to see bloodshed." Tristan nodded with a slight gulp. It finally hit her that this was real, that she was really entered into the competition and that there was a good chance that Tiny and her weren't going to make it.

"They're starting off with the race this year?" In years past, she along with the others not entered into the Annual Scholarship Competition, would peek through cell windows to get a glimpse of the competition. She knew that the slavers chose the weakest and the most troublesome to compete. An old slave once explained to her that the weakest rarely lasted as a slave and well, it was easier to get rid of the troublesome during the competition than in slave sales.

She peered up at the crowd and noticed for the first time, that daises had been set up slightly above the crowds at the four ends of the field. Those must be the four schools that are choosing who gets the scholarships. Strange, three of the daises had one high chair, but the third had three - were there three deans of that school? She shrugged realizing that with only four winners, she probably wouldn't be able to find out.

The sun was bright today, she noted. She might be able to use the sunlight to her advantage. She glanced around the field. Not much to hide behind but if she could maneuver Tiny into a corner, she only had to fend off what were in front of them. She hastily whispered a small plan in his ear, then grabbed his face to lock eyes, making sure he understood both the instructions and the importance of them. He nodded, then pried her hands loose. A quick hug for reassurance, but his posture told her that he was expecting death.

Not today! her mind screamed and she clenched her jaw determinedly.